


Seven Deadly Sins

by asemic



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asemic/pseuds/asemic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Seven Deadly Sins are fatal to spiritual growth and expansion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Deadly Sins

**: Superbia : Pride : Vanity :: Humility ::**

The pads of Charlie’s fingers slide and skid over Don’s damp skin. His fingers light rails of fire along his spine leaving every nerve sparking under his touch. Warmth radiates from the core of his body out to his limbs, tingling as it makes its way through muscle and flesh.

Kisses are soft against the nape of his neck, tongue flickering out to catch beads of water dripping from his wet hair. Don resists the urge to turn around and taste the moisture on Charlie’s mouth, sweet from his conditioner and soft, perfect lips.

There’s a brief brush of cold as lotion is applied onto his back in slow circles then massaged into his shoulders, strong and steady. Don’s body loosens and his head drops back as contentment flows through him. Charlie’s hands slip down the sides of his body, moving easily over the planes of his skin. They dip under the towel that’s wrapped around his waist.

The hands tease him, smooth nails tickling the skin between his hipbones. Charlie slows his movements when he hits the raised birthmark diagonal to his right hip, above the mass of dark curls. A quick flick of his wrist and the towel pools around his ankles, leaving Don’s half-hard cock exposed. There’s a whisper against his skin as his dick is wrapped by Charlie’s hand. 

Words are murmured into his back breaking the silence, quiet and dark. Don’s uneven breathing fills the room. The hand tightens and strokes long and hard from base to tip with a steady one-two motion. His mind clouds as he thrusts up, Charlie’s warm touch and voice flowing around him, bringing him to the brink. It takes a slight pressure of Charlie’s other hand below his navel and one last jerk to make him come. His breath hitches in his chest, stuttering sounds forming in his throat. Charlie kisses his back and brings his wet hand to his mouth, licking it clean. 

Don reaches for the lotion bottle placed on the dresser and turns to his brother. 

 

**Gula : Gluttony :: Abstinence ::**

Charlie’s fingers taste like chalk. Dust from the white stick coats him like a second skin, drying Don’s mouth as he swipes his tongue against the tip of the pointer. 

Charlie’s mouth tastes like chocolate. Hot chocolate from the cafeteria is his mid-afternoon drink of choice. Don loves how his tongue holds the lingering traces of cinnamon, the subtle sweetness of marshmallows that dissolve in the drink. In Charlie’s mouth he can taste comfort and familiarity. 

Charlie’s throat and jaw taste like aftershave, bitter and strong. His mouth sucks the trembling pulse where the biting flavor is strongest, letting his lips move slowly as the blood rushes under his lips.

Charlie is easily recallable, like their mother’s cooking or the sweet, raw smell of his first baseball glove. He just has to close his eyes and lick his lips. 

 

**Avaritia : Greed : Covetousness :: Liberality**

Two hours of driving has brought them to the club. They blend in with the crowd, their black shirts and dark denim clinging to their bodies. Charlie’s lashes are blackened with mascara, his lips slicked to a sweet cherry red. 

The air is close with alcohol, cigarettes, sweat, and the promise of sex. The pounding baseline of the music echoes in their bodies, the pulsing lights fill their vision as they begin to move together. Hot bodies slide around them as Don pulls his brother close, tangling a hand through curls. 

When the music drops to a low rumble and the lights dim to near nothingness, there is a hush. The atmosphere changes from one of complete abandon to expectation. Suddenly the music explodes into a crashing tribal beat, releasing an energy that enters everyone. Leather slides over denim, denim over skin as bodies meet and mouths crash. Don tilts Charlie’s chin up and guides his mouth to meet his. Artificial cherry is sickly sweet and the slight taste of plastic is left on his tongue.

Bodies gyrate against each other, hands and lips searching and reaching out. A hand that isn’t Charlie’s slides up Don’s shirt, tracing his spine with a hot palm. Charlie’s neck is licked by an anonymous tongue. Men and women are pushing and pressing on all sides, murmurs of pleasure and desire as overwhelming as the smell of sweat and smoke. 

Charlie sucks on his bottom lip as he holds the free hand of the person behind him. Underneath long lashes his eyes meet Don and he gets it. He understands that the mouth and hand and the two pressing strangers are theirs for the night. Don reaches out and traces the wet trail of saliva on Charlie’s neck and nods. The music fades, the others become a blur. Charlie, the hands, and tongue are now his center of attention, his world for one night. 

 

**Invidia : Envy : Jealousy :: Kindness**

Charlie’s tongue circles along the ridge of his cock. One finger is tracing the sensitive area behind his balls, such painfully gentle movements.

“What was her name?”

Don inhales as the tongue slides along the tip of his dick and into the slit, licking up the bitter salt drops of forming liquid.

“Elizabeth,” he breathes out, her name catching in his throat.

“Pretty name. She’s gorgeous. So much leg,” Charlie laughs, letting his teeth graze along the sensitive ridge. “Great tits too. Are they real?”

“Yes…fuck!” Don bucks his hips up as Charlie takes him in all the way. A soft pair of lips and a wet mouth envelop his dick as slim fingers tease his opening. This feeling doesn’t last long. He shudders as his cock bobs out of warmth and is exposed to a cool rush of air.

“Did she call your name when you fucked her?” When he opens his eyes, Charlie’s meet his. Soft brown eyes that are as innocent as a child’s framed by bristly black lashes. His mouth is forming a sweet smile, pink lips curving just enough to create a cherubic expression. “Did you moan her name when you pounded your cock into her?”

Such a dirty mouth for such a pretty face.

“I fucking moaned her name over and over again. When I fucked her up against the wall, when she went down on me. Especially when she shoved me in her chair and rode me,” he laughs bitterly. “Charlie, you’ve never lived until you get fucked in an office, blinds open, city lights dotting the landscape,” he says, a rough edge tainting the words. 

Innocence is clouded as his eyebrows rush to a v and the pink mouth twists. Charlie shoves his fingers inside him and Don’s seeing black and white. The pain dissipates to pleasure as he’s back in his brother’s mouth, bumping the back of his throat. His fingers are pushing on his prostate, and all Don can feel is fire. All he can hear is the sharp clack of metal on wood as he balls his hands into fists. Don’s body goes slack, completely exhausted from his release. His arms fall awkwardly as his wrists are released.

“Isn’t confession good for the soul?”

The innocence returns and a kiss is placed on his sweaty forehead.

“Remember who you are. Remember who you go to. Remember where you come from.”

 

**Acedia : Sloth :: Diligence**

It’s 2:14 on a Saturday. The sunlight is streaming into Don’s bedroom, tossing bright stripes of white and yellow across their bodies. The pot of coffee on Don’s end table has turned cold and the plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs is congealed into a gluey mass, sticking to the dish.

They’ve been laying here for hours, Charlie’s chest against his, hair tickling his mouth and the edge of his nose. One hand is splayed on his shoulders, the other planted firmly against his waist. Don’s fingers busy themselves by slowly tracing s-curves extending from his lower back to the nape of his neck. He traces his fingernails lazily along the notches in his brother’s spine, counting them slowly.

Don could think of a million things he should be doing right now. But as Charlie nuzzles his neck with his nose and cheeks, breath moist and warm on his skin, he pushes all the should be’s out of his mind. 

Up: one two three four five…

Down: twenty-six twenty-five twenty-four twenty-three…

 

**Ira : Wrath : Anger :: Patience**

They fuck through all of their emotions. Happiness leads to gentle caresses and exploration. Sadness draws them together with reassuring words and murmurings, ending with their foreheads touching, bodies aligned as they find solace within each other.

Fury gets the best of them. Don pulls on Charlie’s soft curls, strands of it remaining on his fingers. Charlie drags his nails along Don’s body leaving red trails that cross his skin in raised ribbons. Bites are exchanged, teeth digging into flesh, enough to leave indentations. Just enough to mark, red, blue, purple, and yellow. 

Don can still remember the taste of his blood when Charlie broke his lip between his teeth. Coppery and heady as drops dribbled into and out of his mouth. He knows his brother could taste the same; his tongue caught every trail of blood and spit. His blood and Charlie’s blood. The same. 

There’s a scar on Charlie’s lower back from when he was backed into the corner of his table and pushed onto it. Don fucked him raw, telling him that he wanted this. He wanted to be stretched violently. Charlie’s legs were spread, knees pressed into his chest while Don made him moan. The table squeaked under them and Don fell apart as he came, watching Charlie jerked himself off. The condom was taken off and tossed to the linoleum, landing next to the fallen takeout boxes. 

They fell asleep with a gulf of mattress and sheets between them. 

They woke up a tangle of legs and bedding.

 

**Luxuria : Lust : Yearning ::Chastity::**

Charlie is faraway things and what he can’t understand. Charlie is warm and wet, cold and dry. A soft body pressing into his side, hot breath against his neck. Charlie is smooth and _here_ then prickly and sharp in his own world.

Charlie is what he’ll search high and low for. Walk through brambles and twist into bushes with blades for leaves, bullets for berries, all to protect him. He’ll walk through razors for him, to keep him safe. 

Don tightens his arms around Charlie and closes his eyes, forcing himself to get some rest. 

East of the Sun, West of the Moon.

He squeezes harder, laying awake until the radio snaps on, morning news piping through the air. 

He doesn’t let go.


End file.
